The Silent Sparrow
by Adamantwrites
Summary: Since Joe disappeared the night of Marie's burial almost three years earlier, life has not been the same. Adam feels compelled to leave school and return to the homestead in the hopes of helping his father. Rated M for the implied (not graphic) child abuse. No copyright infringement is intended.
1. Chapter 1

**I **

"Well," Dean Perkins said, "I'm sorry that you're leaving us, Mr. Cartwright, even if it isn't permanently. You're a fine student but I well understand the necessity of the situation."

"Thank you, sir," Adam Cartwright said, taking the Dean of Students outstretched hand. "I anticipate being back for the fall term—if I am readmitted."

"I assure you that you will be," the dean said smiling. "Godspeed."

"Thank you, sir." Adam put his hat back on and left the office, walking out of the building and into the mild air outside. It was the end of the spring term, exams had been completed, and Adam's suit jacket was overly warm. A soft, fragrant breeze blew and bees were exploring the blooms of trees and flowers. Since there were few people on campus, Adam pulled of his jacket and loosened his tie.

Adam Cartwright, a young man of nineteen years, had mixed feelings about leaving his college studies and returning home but he had received few letters from his father lately despite the many he had written home himself. But Adam understood that since his youngest brother, Joseph, had disappeared almost three years ago, his father had been distraught, having lost both his wife, Marie, and then their young son within a week of each other and was probably reluctant to imply in a letter that all was not well with him. After all, his oldest son was now so far away. Knowing his father as well as he did, having been his only companion the first five years of his life and being by his father's side at the death of both Hoss' mother, Inger, killed by Indians on the prairie and then Joe's mother, Marie, Adam knew that grief remained with his father longer than most men; his sadness hung on him like tattered, oversized clothes.

Besides, Adam's dream had returned.

When Joe couldn't be found after almost half a year of searching, following endless leads, Adam had been willing to stay home on the Ponderosa and forgo his education. He had wanted to stay and continue what appeared as a fruitless search, but his father had insisted; Ben Cartwright said that he had waited all this time for Adam to be the first college-educated Cartwright and Adam was going. Besides, Adam staying home wouldn't make any difference—not after all this time.

So at seventeen years, Adam had left for Boston and Hoss had hung back when seeing him off at the stage depot. Adam, after handing his bags up to the driver, had gone to Hoss whose lower lip trembled.

"Hey, Hoss," Adam had said, leaning down but Hoss refused to lift his eyes. "I'll write home, I promise."

Hoss answered in a tremulous voice. "What if you disappear like Joe? What if I never see you again, Adam?" And then Hoss broke into tears and clutched at Adam who held his brother. Hoss was the size of a sixteen year old but he wasn't yet ten.

"You won't lose me. I'm older and I'll…I'll be back, Hoss. I swear to that." But Hoss continued to sob and it took Ben a few seconds to practically pull Hoss away from his older brother in order for Adam to be able to leave.

Ben and Hoss stood on the wooden sidewalk in Virginia City's stage depot and waved, albeit half-heartedly but bravely, when the stage pulled away. Adam looked out the window, stretching out his hand and waving at his father and brother as they seemed to be the ones pulling away from him. And the tears caught in his throat. Joe should be standing there as well, waving goodbye to him, his curls being ruffled by the gentle breeze.

Adam, on his way home again, looked out at the passing scenery as the train moved further and further west. His college clothes, the suit and tie the students were required to wear, now seemed alien and he wanted to peel them off and again feel the soft relaxed cotton of a well-worn shirt and the softness of his jeans as well as the familiar feel of his heavy-heeled working boots. There was something solid about boots—they anchored a man to the ground, to reality. He longed to put them on again and to feel as if he was truly back home. He ached to be back home and to see his father and Hoss and to eat Hop Sing's cooking. He longed for the noises of home but then he remembered that when he left, the house had been silent. No one would say anything because there was too much to say.

In his Gladstone bag, Adam had packed some plans that he had sketched for the homestead, a way to take the long, flat house and to enlarge it by building upward. The fireplace could be enlarged, the chimney pointing higher toward heaven and fireplaces branching off to every bedroom. But for Hop Sing, Adam had created a spacious kitchen off the dining area. He had even created a separate door so that Hop Sing could go directly out into the yard and catch one of the foraging chickens, behead it, pluck it, and take it straight into the kitchen to gut and prepare for a meal. Adam had also made plans for a smoke house where Hop Sing could hang hams and sides of beef for lean times during the winter months.

The one concern that Adam had was what his father might do when Adam showed him the extra bedrooms. His fear was that it would only serve as a reminder that Little Joe was gone—truly gone. And Adam heavily sighed and since the night was falling, he could begin to see his reflection in the glass of the window. He appeared an unhappy man.


	2. Chapter 2

**In this section, I attempted a modified "steam of consciousness," a literary device that attempts to show a person's thought as they occur. It's not 1****st**** person P.O.V. in the manner of a narration but thoughts connect to other thoughts and there are distractions. True stream of consciousness has no punctuation, capitalization or language tags and can be confusing so I have written a "type." As the story goes on, the P.O.V. will switch and so will the manner of the narration. I hope any readers won't find it confusing. **

**II **

I wasn't particularly fond of Marie, Joe's mother—or should I say, Little Joe's. Marie would call him, "mon petit" which means "my little one" so he was nicknamed "Little Joe." But Joe _was_ small—his name was descriptive.

I didn't want my father to marry Marie—she came into our lives when I was just starting to feel urges that made me shiver and want to be alone with my unfulfilled desires. The fact that Pa was always touching her and kissing her cheek or her neck made me want her gone even more. I know I was just being a selfish eleven-year old. It didn't occur to me that my father had greater needs than I did.

When young, I had been used to having my father to myself and then he married Inger and Hoss was born. I guess that since I was only about five when Pa and Inger married, it was easy to love her and to let her love me and then Hoss was born. Hoss was huge—at least that's what the women said who helped with the delivery. Inger moaned and cried in the wagon. I knew my own mother had died giving birth to me so I ran and hid under another wagon where I couldn't hear her pain as she cried out to the heavens, and prayed to God to not let Inger die. I promised to behave, to be the best child I could be if only God would let Inger live. God kept his side of the bargain—at least for a while.

I still remember perfectly when Inger called me into the wagon to meet my new brother. Hoss was big with chubby arms and legs and although both my father and Inger laughed when I told them, I know Hoss smiled at me and I loved him immediately. We were a happy family until Inger was killed. At the time, I wondered what I had done, how I had misbehaved for God to renege on his side of our bargain for Inger to live. It was my innocent hubris to believe that fate can be altered by anything I did, that God would even listen to me. That was when I stopped saying my prayers.

But my father seemed in love with Marie and she tried to make peace with me but I would have none of her. Then Hoss, who was almost six at the time, and I were told that we were going to have another brother or sister. Hoss was excited. I wasn't. You see, I knew all about sex—I did live on a ranch and had snuck into the barn many times to watch a mare being mounted and such and it only seemed to shout that both my father and Marie were sexual beings and I found it embarrassing and humiliating. How could I respect my father if he behaved like the beasts on the ranch, like the rooster who strokes the hen and the boar who covers the sow? He was no better than they were. I was disgusted.

Joe was born a little over a month early and he was small. He reminded me of a chicken when it's been plucked and cleaned and is lying in a roasting pan. Joe's legs were always drawn up and his small arms bent like chicken wings, his hands in tight fists. But my father and Marie fussed over him and his full head of hair. When Marie was "enceinte," she had watched her weight, not eating desserts or pancakes or such; she told my father that she wanted to always remain beautiful for him. I overheard the doctor tell my father that since Marie hadn't gained much weight, neither had the "infant." Joe hadn't yet been named but the pastor came out to the house and christened him Joseph Francis Cartwright in case he died-and the name seemed to fit.

But no matter how I felt about Marie, my father loved her and so did Hoss. My father used to tell me to kiss Marie goodnight but I wouldn't. I wanted nothing to do with her, even avoiding everything she had touched if I could. She made me uncomfortable and I wanted to tell my father about the feelings I had but I couldn't because he wouldn't have understood; at the time, I didn't understand it myself.

It was right before Marie died and I was making plans to go to college in another year that I finally found some peace within myself as far as Marie was concerned—I could even look upon her with a type of affection. But when Marie died—broke her neck when she fell from her horse-I didn't cry. I was sorry but I didn't cry. I wondered if there was something wrong with me. It seems sometimes as if I can stand at a distance from myself and dispassionately observe what is happening but I think that it's just my way of protecting myself, as if whatever is happening isn't really happening to me.

I stood at the graveside with my father and Hoss and four-year-old Little Joe, Hop Sing behind us, and for the first time in my life, I saw my father sob like a child. He had shed tears at Inger's burial but he wept openly at Marie's grave. She was buried by the lake so that she could always be near us, my father had said. He ran his hand over the headstone and the carved cross at the top and bemoaned his loss, calling Marie's name out loud. I was embarrassed to see such naked emotion.

Then to indicate the end of the ceremony, we each threw a handful of dirt on the casket and everyone moved to return to the house for food. Hop Sing had cooked for two days and the other ranchers' wives and townswomen brought cakes and pies and such. But Little Joe wouldn't leave the spot. He stomped his feet and then threw himself on the ground and screamed that he wouldn't leave his Mama. My father was at a loss, so mired in his own misery was he, that I told him that I would stay with Joe and that when the men had finally filled in the grave, I would bring Joe home; it was a half hour walk but we would be all right even though darkness would soon be falling.

I finally convinced Joe to stop crying and to stand with me and we watched while the men from the undertaker's shoveled the dirt onto Marie's grave and then packed it down. They left and Joe just stood and stared at the mound of dirt and the banked bouquets of flowers the mourners had brought.

"Let's go, Joe," I said. "There's food at home-pies and cakes and Hop Sing's plum cakes." I hoped that maybe I could bribe him with food into leaving.

"No, I wanna stay with Mama."

I knew Joe was always determined to get his way and he always did. That angelic face of his would darken and he would dig in his heels and there was no moving him. I wondered how anyone could reason with a small child but I thought I'd try. "She's not really there, Joe."

"Yes, she is. I saw her, Adam. I saw Mama in that box and they put that box in the ground. Mama's down there." I knew what Joe was talking about. The open casket had sat in the parlor the day before and people had visited for the viewing—a morbid tradition in my opinion. Mrs. Edwards, a neighbor of ours, had come over with Mrs. Shaughnessy, another neighbor and they had dressed Marie and fixed her hair, even putting rouge on her cheeks and lips. Why do we want to make the dead seem as if they're only sleeping?

Joe had fussed and tugged on Pa's pants' leg until our father lifted him up and let him see his "Mama." Then Joe wanted to kiss her. I thought it was grotesque but Pa held him and let him and Joe told Marie to wake up. My father should have never let Joe do that. I've decided that when I die, they can just dump my body in the lake or put me in a hole without a casket; I want to serve a purpose even in my death—even if it's only to feed the fishes or worms.

I used to tell Hoss that the worms he dug for fishing had actually gotten so big and juicy from eating people in their graves and that when he ate the fish, he'd be eating the people as well. And then when I was taking my first literature class in college, I read a play by Shakespeare and saw that the main character, Hamlet, had expressed the same idea. He said that a man can eat a fish that ate a worm that had eaten a buried king. He put it…let me see if I can remember-"A king may go a progress through the guts of a beggar." It made me feel strange and slightly proud to think that Shakespeare and I had both had the same idea.

So I tried to reason with Joe—at least the best way I could for him to understand. "Your mama's in heaven, Joe. Remember what the preacher said about angels carrying Mama off to heaven?" Joe nodded. "Well, that's where she is."

"No. She's down there. How can she eat, Adam? How can she breathe? I can hold my breath a long time but Mama can't."

"C'mon, Joe. Let's go. Your mama's dead. That's why we buried her body but her soul is still alive in heaven and she's watching over you." I didn't believe any of what I was telling Joe but he was only a child and I hoped he would accept it and then we could head home; I was hungry.

Joe looked up at the sky and then looked at the grave again. He walked onto the mound and stood staring at the headstone. "What's them words, Adam?"

I told him that it said her name and the years she had been alive and that it said "In Loving Memory."

Then Joe lay down on the dirt and spread out his arms like he was nailed on a cross.

"What are you doing?" I said. The men had gone but I looked around anyway to make sure no one was watching Joe behave like some idiot child. "Get up from there—right now!"

"You said that Mama was in heaven but she's here too. I want to stay here with Mama." He stared up at the clouds. "I don't see her in heaven, Adam."

I had had enough. I snatched Joe up and started heading home. Joe kicked and cried but I ignored him, shifting him from side to side, holding him practically horizontal so his boots wouldn't catch me. Pa might give in to Joe all the time but I wouldn't. But when we arrived home, I put Joe down in the yard and he turned around and started running back from where we came. I had to go catch him again and he kept saying that he didn't want to leave his "Mama" all alone by the water.

Anyway, it was bad and Joe shrieked so much that the people didn't stay very long after we got there—but that just left more food for me and Hoss. Joe practically screamed non-stop but before they left, the women tried to console him; they took turns holding Joe and trying to explain what had happened but nothing worked. Finally Joe just wore himself out and fell asleep in Pa's arms.

The next morning I woke up to Hop Sing yelling excitedly in Chinese. Pa was first in the small kitchen and I was next and Hop Sing was going on about someone breaking into the house—the narrow kitchen door was open and some of the chickens had wandered in. Some had fluttered up to the counter and butcher block where the food from yesterday was still sitting covered by towels. Hoss finally came down barefooted, his hair sticking up, sheet creases in one cheek, asking what the matter was. And then I had a cold chill down my spine. I asked where Joe was.

Pa had the oddest look on his face and it was almost as if time froze right there and all of us just stood. I don't even know if any of us breathed. Then Pa took off and ran down the hall and into Joe's room, all of us following. Joe wasn't there.

"I bet he went back to the grave, Pa." After yesterday, I was sure that was where Joe had gone. After all, he had tried to go back on his own as soon as I let him down.

"Get dressed, Adam," Pa said and I did. Then he and I saddled up and took off for Marie's grave. Pa said nothing but had this look on his face that I didn't understand but now I know that he was fighting off panic. I know what it's like when your mind goes running in circles and you keep from wanting to scream. I know because I felt it many times the months after and sometimes I still wake up gasping for breath from my dream that keeps coming back.

I dream that Joe is in the lake and I have to find him before he drowns. I keep diving and looking for him and I can't find him. In my dream I keep thinking that he can't last much longer, can't hold his breath much longer and I begin to panic. And then I begin to drown and my lungs scream for air. That's when I wake up, gasping and I realize that I was holding my breath in my sleep. Oh, Joe—I never found you. None of us found you. No matter how much we looked or the neighbors looked, we never found you. And I thought Pa would die.


	3. Chapter 3

III

The terminus was St. Louis, Missouri and Adam took the stage to Grand Junction, Colorado but riding in a crowded coach for the rest of his journey didn't appeal to him. He wanted to stretch his legs and the interior of the coach was cramped and stank. He still had twenty-three dollars and some odd cents in his pocket that he had scraped together out of his allowance from home over the past few months so Adam debarked and instead of spending money on another ticket to go further, he stopped at the mercantilist's and bought a pair of dungarees. He could wear the shirt he had on and his jacket and his bowler would serve as a hat as well as his fine boots for the trail. He knew that his father would be displeased with the wear and tear he would put on his expensive clothes and that his father had sacrificed to purchase them so that Adam would fit in with his classmates, but he wanted to ride by himself the rest of the way and avoid any other travelers. His mind was clouded with a sense of despair at returning and seeing his family so incomplete.

When he had been on the train Adam had to be polite and that meant carrying on a conversation with any fellow travelers who were bored or sociable but that referred to only the travelers beside him. On a stage, it was worse as the quarters were smaller. One had to often pass the time breathing in the stench of another passenger or avoiding the eyes of the person sitting across the small aisle since such intimacy demanded conversation. If he was sitting across from a woman, it was even worse as she could easily become offended at an appraising glance. And Adam didn't have patience for people right now.

Wearing his new, stiff dungarees, Adam asked for directions to the livery stable. "Go out, turn left and go about 30 yards."

"I need a horse, a good, steady horse as I'm traveling a-ways," Adam told the man in the small office. He assumed the man was Mr. Henry as the sign read "Henry's Livery." Then in smaller lettering, it stated the rates for stabling a horse and also the prices for rentals of horses or buggies."

The man spat on the floor, a foul, brown color and then looked again at Adam, his lower lip pushed out from the tobacco.

"So how long you want to rent?"

"I want to buy. Do you have a horse I can buy?"

"Look in the last two stalls on the right. I can sell either of those."

Adam went out and looked at the last two horses. The young gelding in the last stall was obviously bored and had bitten off chunks from the boards of its stall. As Adam watched, it attempted to take a hunk of flesh out of the horse beside it but that horse just shifted its stance so it was out of reach; it was part plow horse, old, mellow and resigned to being left in a stall all day.

Adam returned to the office, ready to bargain. "The big one in the second to the last stall. How much for him?"

"Wouldn't you rather have that young gelding? Move a helluva lot faster."

"No. How much for the plow horse?" Adam didn't want the livery owner to think he was too eager so he used the derogatory term.

"Well, slow 'n steady wins the race, they say. Fifteen dollars. I'd get more from the knackers but he's yours for fifteen. I'm glad to be rid of him. A man came to stable him 'bout a month ago and never came back. I've been stuck with him for that long." The man watched Adam closely. In his opinion, his city-slicker didn't know a damn thing about horses.

"I have ten dollars to buy a horse," Adam lied. He knew he still had to buy supplies of food for the trip.

"Well, I don't know…but I like you, son. Okay, ten it is. Course now, iffen you want a bridle and saddle…"

Adam sighed. The stage coach was beginning to sound attractive to him. "Yes, I do."

"I s'pose you don't have much money." The man watched Adam closely.

"No, I don't. I have to buy some supplies but…well…I need a horse but…."

"For two dollars I can let you have anything from that pile of bridles and saddles at the back." The man rose and he and Adam stepped out into the stables. "See that pile down there?"

"Yes, sir." Adam saw a pile of leather strips, buckles and bits and some saddles.

"Well, if you can cannibalize and put together a decent bridle and saddle, be my guest. Two dollars up front"

"Thank you, sir." Adam handed the man two dollars. They shook hands and Adam went to the pile of discarded bridles and saddles and finally, using various reins and pieces from other bridles, managed to create a decent one buckling and unbuckling until he was satisfied that the lengths were correct. He pulled out an old saddle with cracked, stiff leather, the largest he could find. He easily bridled the tractable horse and led it out of the stall. He laid a moth-eaten blanket that had been in the pile on the horse's back, apologizing to the animal for its condition and then placed the saddle. It didn't fit as well as he had hoped and Adam knew that it might cause problems for the horse, rub it's withers in the wrong place. He glanced around and saw a sheepskin saddle blanket on the side of another stall. Adam slipped it off the rail and placed it under the ratty saddle blanket and then finished saddling the horse, tying on his bag. He walked it out and the man came out of the office. The man leaned against a support and grinned at Adam as he mounted and sat atop the large horse.

"If you don't look a sight," the man said. "Well, good luck to you."

Adam nodded and after checking the cinch, lightly kicked the horse who plodded off. Down the street, Adam hitched the horse at Finney's General Store where he bought some meager supplies for his trip. But while he was there, he bought a blanket for a bedroll and a revolver, used but with nice balance, for two dollars and some bullets. He tucked the pistol in his waistband, dropped the extra bullets in his jacket pocket and then headed off in the general direction of Nevada and the Ponderosa.

Adam was deep into Utah territory, almost to the Nevada border according to his calculations. Every morning he would gauge his way by the sun and during the day, he would watch his shadow on the ground. The landscape of Utah was dry and bare for the most part but Adam stayed to the canyons and valleys where the horse could graze, there was water and he could shoot some small game, Nevertheless, even though it was hot during the day, the nights were cold and he was glad of the blanket in his bedroll.

Up to that point, his trip had been free of incident and Adam had found his solitary way to be comforting and purifying to the soul. He was maneuvering his horse around some lowland brush when he heard a rifle being cocked behind him and a voice said, "Stop where you are, mister."

Adam pulled up his horse and put his hands up to indicate that he held no weapon. His horse dropped its head and began to pull up the tender shoots of late spring grass. Two men, both holding shotguns, stepped out from the shadows of the surrounding shrubs and stepped in front of him.

"What're you doin' here, boy?" one asked. They looked to be in their thirties and what caught Adam's attention was their bad teeth and their unkempt appearance and the slight twang to their words. They didn't sound as if they belonged in the west but then so many people were coming out to avoid many issues in other parts of the country. Some escaped poverty, some followed dreams as his own father had and some escaped the law.

"I'm just riding through. I don't want any trouble and I don't have but maybe five dollars left. You're welcome to it if it'll be of any good to you."

"I done told you," one man said to the other, "that he was too young to be a revenuer."

Adam suddenly realized that the men were moonshiners and that he had come too close to their still.

The first man stared at Adam and then laughed. "You are one odd picture. Here you are ridin' a plow horse but you're dressed like some city boy. And you say you're goin' home?"

"Yes, sir."

"Now ain't he mannerly, saying sir and all that," the other one said.

"Shut up, Rabbit. What's your name?"

"Can I put my hands down?" The dominant man nodded. "My name's Adam…" Adam looked at the two men. They were close to Nevada territory and Adam wondered if they had heard of the Cartwrights and if they had, not seeming to be the most law-abiding men in the area, would they know about the land his family owned and try to take advantage of the scion who was within their grasp? Adam thought better than to tell them the truth. "Elsing," Adam said giving the last name of one of his college professors. "Adam Elsing."

"Well, boy, iffen you'd like some hot food in your belly, follow us. We got a cabin and barn a-ways up."

Adam wanted to say no but thought better of it; he didn't want to insult them and perhaps anger them. But he also didn't want to be a victim. But they hadn't taken his gun even though they had both seen the pistol butt sticking from his waistband.

"Why thank you. I'd appreciate it." Adam dismounted and the three men walked through the dense area. Adam led his horse who plodded behind him.

"My name's Zechariah. That's my brother, Rabbit, and we got another brother checking on another still, Elisha."

"Funny that you two have Bible names and then there's Rabbit." Adam looked to the man who walked with his shotgun over his arm. Adam considered that Rabbit was a dangerous man; he seemed volatile and Zechariah appeared to have to control him.

Zechariah laughed. "His real names Barabbas but when Elisha and me were boys, we couldn't say that name so we just called him Rabbit and it stuck."

"Oh," Adam said. That explains it. Barabbas was the thief."

"You callin' me a thief?"

"No, no. I was just stating that in the Bible, Barabbas was the thief who lived while Christ died."

"Bible-learnin'. Not worth nuthin'. You sure you ain't no revenuer?" Rabbit asked. He noticed the fancy clothes the stranger wore hadn't been washed in a few days and his dungarees were like those a farm boy would wear. Nevertheless, these revenuers were becoming cleverer and he figured that Adam might be wearing such eclectic clothes to throw them off.

"I'm not a revenuer. I'm just a poor student from Boston—too poor to stay in school and on my way to visit some relatives—that's all." But Adam didn't like the way Rabbit looked at him so Adam gave his speech more of a Boston inflection and soon they arrived in a clearing with the cabin and the barn just as Zechariah had said.


	4. Chapter 4

**IV**

"Elisha!" Zechariah called out as they approached and another man came out of the house.

"How come you're late?" Elisha said as he came out. He saw Adam leading his horse and the man stopped. "Who's he?"

"Just a stranger passing through. Invited him for victuals. What's on the stove?"

"What do you think? Squirrel stew." Elisha looked at Adam with narrowed eyes. "You like squirrel stew?"

"I've never had any before," Adam honestly answered. Then he turned to Zechariah who seemed the most powerful of the three brothers. "Can I take care of my horse? If you have some oats or such, I can give you half a dollar; he hasn't eaten much but grass."

"There's oats in the barn and hay. I'll have the boy take care of him. Where is that boy? Jimmy-James? Where the hell you at, boy? I swear, I'll blister his hide iffen…"

A young boy came running around the corner of the house, his long, dark curls falling into his eyes. His overalls were too big and had been cut-off from a man's pair and he was barefooted. His shirt was too big as well and his thin wrists stuck out from the rolled-up sleeves. He stopped at the sight of Adam and stared with huge, hazel eyes. And Adam gasped. It was Joe—he was sure of it.

"What's wrong?" Zechariah asked. He noticed how at the sight of the boy, the stranger had paled and stopped still.

"What? Oh, I just…I'm just surprised to see a young boy here—that's all. I mean, usually there's a woman…I was just surprised. Is he your brother as well?" Adam tried to control his face but his heart was thumping wildly. But it couldn't be Joe. He had to be mistaken and yet when Adam again locked eyes with the boy, he knew that it was Joe. The face—like an angel's—so delicate about the mouth and the large eyes.

Joe's body had never been found and his footprints had disappeared in the thick grass not far from the house. There had been so many people looking for the lost child that the sheriff had complained that any trail had been lost, compromised by all the horses' and searchers' footprints.

"What business is it of yours?" Elisha asked.

"It's not. I just wondered. Sorry." Adam began to breathe easier but his heart was still pounding.

"Boy's an orphan—ain't got no parents. Me and my wife, we done took him in but my wife, she's dead."

"That's a shame." Adam walked toward the boy and kneeled down. "My name's…" Adam realized that he had lied about his last name so he couldn't say Cartwright to the boy and see if there was a spark of recognition. "…Adam and this here's my horse. If I unbridle him, will you feed him?" There was nothing in the boy's face but apprehension.

"He don't talk," Elisha said.

Adam stood up. "You mean he could never talk?"

"Oh, he can. He just chooses not to. Stopped 'bout over a year ago when my wife died. Jimmy-James, go and get some oats for this man's horse and feed the other horses. Then bring in the cow—understand?"

The boy nodded and then took off running for the barn and Adam followed. He turned back to the three brothers who watched him. "Thank you."

"You can wash up out back and then come on in. Supper'll be ready soon," Elisha said.

"I'll do that. Thank you again." Adam was determined to confirm if the boy was his missing brother and at the same time, he wondered what he would do if it was Joe.

In the privacy of the barn, Adam asked the boy how long he had lived there with the men. "One year?" Adam held up one finger. "Two years?" Adam held up two fingers but the boy just stared at him. "Can you tell me how old you are? How many fingers?" The boy still just stared at him, his eyes wide.

The boy then went about scooping oats out of a barrel and pouring the scoops into the small wooden troughs in each stall; there were two other horses besides Adam's. Adam put his horse in the stall but left him saddled after loosening the cinch and the horse dipped its head into the straw first, snuffling about, and then went to the oats.

"Jimmy-James, do you remember your mother?"

At the word, "mother," the boy's head swung around and he paused in the feeding of the horses. Then he went to the barn door and looked around, turned and motioned for Adam to follow him. Adam did and the boy ran lightly over the grasses and rocks until they were a distance from the house. Then he stopped and stared at the ground. Adam stood as well and noticed nothing at first but a small, grassy mound and then he saw some wilted field flowers on the mound and dead, dried-out flowers beside it as if they had been discarded to make way for fresh ones. And there was a rock—an unusually-shaped, large rock at the top of the lengthy mound. Adam realized that it was a grave. Joe remembered the headstone and the flowers at Marie's grave and tried to reproduce them—Adam was certain of that. He couldn't see the men caring and tending a grave

The boy looked up at Adam and his eyes filled with tears.

"Is that where your mother's buried?"

The boy nodded.

"Do you know how she died?"

The boy looked at Adam and then took his own hands and placed them around his thin neck as if choking himself. Then the boy turned and ran off back to the barn.

Adam was now certain it was Joe. The same, sad look had been Joe's eyes when Marie, his "Mama" had died and it was still there for this woman who had been his second mother.


	5. Chapter 5

V

Wet and cold under my feet. It was dark. She was in darkness—Mama. I left my bed—opened the kitchen door, Close that door—flies will come in! I ran to find Mama—"mon ange" she called me. I was her angel. My other momma loved me too. "My beautiful boy." Not my Mama. Call me Ma. Mama died—Ma died. All alone in the ground. "I'll put you in the ground you say anything 'bout this!" No, it's lonely and dark in the ground. I won't say anything. I don't want to go in the ground.

It was so dark—run and run and run. The grass is slick and wet and cold. I shiver. Mama must be cold. Can't find the lake. Mama's buried by the lake. I sit and curl up and cry. Papa! Find me! Papa! Brother took me home—can't find my way. Brother? Brother, find me in the dark!

Girly—you'll make him a girl. She was slapped. I hate them—especially Elisha. Brothers. Brothers are bad. My brother pulled me away from Mama. I wanted to stay with Mama.

Look, a boy. What he doin' out here? Don't know. Whyn't take 'im? Give 'im to Elsie. She wants a child. He took me on his horse—not brother. Brother! Find me, Brother. We rode away. I wanted my Papa. I cried and tried to fight. He slapped me. I bit his hand and he hit me and made me dizzy—my head spun and my ear hurt so bad-so bad.

I'll box your ears! I always do what I'm told now but sometimes I don't understand.

I'm always cold or hot or hungry and always afraid. I'll box your ears, boy.

Jimmy-James do this, do that. They call me dummy 'cause my voice is gone.

I called someone a dummy once—a brother. My Papa said it was bad to call names. These men call me names. Dummy. They laugh at me when I make a mistake or hit me—I never know. They push me over with their foot as they sit and I get things for them. You drop that jug and break it, I'll make you lick up the mess! The jug is so heavy. I don't want to spill.

Elisha killed my Ma. Not Mama. He was drinking the stuff I help cork and what's in the jugs in the house. It stinks awful and I have to go with one of them and when they fill the jug, I have to cork it. Sometimes we have jars—canning jars—they say B-A-L-L on them and I can read that word. Below it is M-A-S-O-N—I can read that word too—Ma told me it's spelling. I run my finger over the letters that stick out on the glass. I have to screw on the lid but it's hard because the lid's in two parts. Sometimes I spill. "I'll box your ears!"

My Ma didn't want me to go. Hold me, Ma. One of them would slap her and pull me away. "Girly—you'd make him a girl. Whyn't I go ahead, take a knife and chop it off right here in front of you?"

Rabbit held a knife and told me he would make me a girl. He laughed and they laughed—Ma cried—leave him alone. I was afraid. Have more use for 'im iffen he was a girl. Rabbit laughed. Pretty curls, pretty face—he'd make a pretty girl. Ma cried and begged—Let him be—he's just a child!

Ma was wife to them all, they said. They all used to drag her back to the room and Ma would come out and not talk after. It made her sad. Ma, don't cry. I love you—I would pat her shoulder as she sat, her head down.

I can't talk no more neither—I don't want to-afraid to. I saw Ma with the big hands squeezing her throat. She pulled at them—her eyes popping out. I yelled. No, don't. Leave Ma alone! Ma stabbed Elisha. The big knife clanked on the floor when he grabbed her—blood like red syrup on the long blade. Elisha held his side and there was some blood. Red-spreading red.

I showed the stranger the grave. I put flowers on it. I put the rock on it. Graves have big rocks. My Mama had a rock—a big one. It had a cross and her name but I couldn't read it. I asked…someone was there. He carried me away from my Mama's grave. Brother. I wanted to go back. She was alone and in the ground and in the sky…Ma is in the sky and in the ground too. Living with the angels. I left my bed to go to Mama.

I ran away from Ma's grave. If the stranger tells Rabbit about what I showed him, he might make me a girl or box my ears. Oh, my head hurts so much.

I was asleep. The stranger came in my room. He woke me up and I wanted to scream but no voice. He put his finger to his mouth. That means shush but I can't speak. Leave me alone, I want to scream. They'll box your ears or make you a girl or squeeze your throat. There's others buried out there—other strangers. You'll be in a hole in the ground.

He pulled me to him and carried me off. His horse was saddled and waiting. He put me on the saddle. I was taken on Rabbit's horse first. Horses take me away.

They ride-I have to walk—fast or I get slapped. Lazy. Keep up and carry those jars. You fall, you break any of 'em and you'll have to walk over the broken glass.

The stranger talked to me as we rode away. He put his jacket around me.

Your name is Joe—Little Joe? Remember me? Adam? I'm your brother. We have another brother—Hoss. Remember him? Remember Pa?

Pa. My feet were cold—the grass was wet and cold but I ran to Mama. She was all alone in the dirt. They put her in a box—deep, deep in a hole. Ma's not in a box. They dug a hole and dropped her in. I wanted to scream 'cause they put dirt right on her face. I couldn't scream. My mouth opened. I ran and Zechariah found me under some brush. You can be choked even easier. We'll snap your neck if you say another word about this to anyone. Don't you talk—understand? Don't you say a word! I understood—no words—no words—We'll put you in the ground alive and shovel dirt on you so high you'll never see daylight again, Rabbit said. I won't say anything.

The big horse started to go faster. The stranger clucked to the horse and it jolted me. The sun came up behind us. I was afraid. I want to go back. Zechariah will be mad—oh, he'll hurt me. Rabbit will use the switch. I'll blister you! They laugh when I jump around trying to keep the switch away from my legs. Look at him dance. The dummy can prance around like a girl at a square dance. Rabbit—get your Jew's harp and play a tune. Jimmy-James, you dance.

Then they laughed and Zechariah grabbed my hair—pulled me to him.

Elisha, get me a knife. You wanna be a girl? Now that Elsie's gone…

Ma was Elsie. They called her Elsie. She would dance with me-hum songs and we would dance.

We gotta stop dancin' now—the men are coming. You set the plates and bowls for dinner. Ma was Elsie. I can't remember Mama—who she was but there was a man—a big man. He was Pa. And there was older Brother.

The stranger—he said he is Adam. My Brother Adam. Ma read me from a book 'bout a man named Adam. He had two sons. One killed the other. Maybe Rabbit, Elisha and Zechariah would kill each other. But then I'd be alone.

Brother gave me some jerky and a hard cracker. Pa? Do you remember our pa? You can just nod.

He's always asking questions about 'membering. Now we've stopped but he keeps looking around. He has a gun. Do you remember our house and Hop Sing?

The words Hop Sing make me smile—it's such a funny name.

Brother Adam grabs me up and pulls the horse away. We hide in some brush. I hear a horse and so does Brother's horse. It makes a noise and I feel Brother Adam hold me tighter to him. He kisses the top of my hair. Hush, he says and pushes me behind him. He makes that sign to shush.

I see Rabbit through the leaves. He's stopped and gotten down from his horse. He bends down and looks through the brush like he can see us. Then he aims his shotgun and Adam points his gun and then there's a loud noise and a flash and Rabbit falls down. I hold my ears and close my eyes. An arm grabs me and pulls me up and then we're back on a horse and it's Brother Adam. He keeps telling me it'll be all right. He calls me Joe. His arm around me is like Ma's—it's a love arm. He cares about me and keeps talking about how everything will be okay.

It'll be okay, Joe. We'll be home soon.

I look back. Honey, Rabbit's horse is just cropping grass. She doesn't care that Rabbit is lying with his eyes and mouth open. I don't care either. We don't even put him in a hole.

We keep riding. I sleep in Brother's arms—rocking, rocking. Cain—that was who killed his brother.


	6. Chapter 6

**VI**

I knew as soon as I saw him that it was Little Joe—my gut told me first. I trust my gut but then I have to stop and think about what I'm going to do. The few times I've acted without thinking, well, things haven't gone well. People think I don't care because I don't react but I do react—inside. But I learned that a man has to consider things such as what could go wrong so I try to stop and plan. But I didn't know how much time I had.

The whole time we searched after Joe disappeared—and we searched for months- we never found Joe's body. After that, whenever Pa would ride anywhere, whenever we'd go to town or just out on the property, Pa's eyes were always scanning—looking for something, anything—to let him know what had become of Little Joe. I think that was the worst—the not knowing. Before bed sometimes, Pa would go outside and stand in the yard and just smoke his pipe and look at nothing. And he lost weight and was heart-sick—that's the phrase that suits him best—heart-sick-sick at heart.

When I was about fourteen, I had the biggest crush on Aimee Nickerson. "I can see Nickerson's knickers!" The other boys would tease her but I always defended her, carried her books to her house and gave her wildflowers and bought her candy. But she liked Carl better; he gave her things that I know he pilfered from the General Store but she didn't care. I was so upset when she told me to leave her alone, that she was Carl's girl. Pa told me that I was heart-sick but that it would pass. But what Pa felt—that would never pass. How he longed for Joe. I did too and Hoss, he was afraid that he would disappear one night. Before he went to bed, he would check to make sure all the doors were locked especially the kitchen door, because someone raised the question about whether or not Joe was kidnapped. But there was no ransom, nothing. I know he had gone back to see Marie's grave and lost his way. But then, what had become of him? Pa asked me.

I remember how Pa, I and the neighbors searched the lake for Joe and then there was that swollen stream but Joe wouldn't have gone into that water; it was cold and he had no reason. They said maybe he would but I insisted that he wouldn't. But Pa rode downstream for miles and searched for something, anything but came back two days later with nothing. Joe couldn't have been eaten by an animal; we would have found a partial body at least—Pa stared at me when I said "carcass" instead of body. I apologized. There would have been part of his nightshirt too. We would have found something.

Then Joyce Edwards suggested that maybe someone had picked up Joe if he became lost going to the lake. He was so small and so young, he may not have been able to tell them where he lived.

"But everyone around here knows us and Joe, he knows he's a Cartwright! He would have told whomever it was" Pa yelled. Mrs. Edwards looked like she was going to cry. She had been so nice to Pa when Marie died and was trying now. I think she loves him and maybe if it weren't for Mr. Edwards, she and Pa would have started to court after a respectable time. But Pa and Mr. Edwards—that's another story, another cause of sadness.

Pa put advertisements in _The Territorial Enterprise_, _The Sacramento Bee_ just in case someone had taken Joe with them and gone further west, and the _Carson Daily Appeal_.

The youngest son of Benjamin Cartwright of the Ponderosa, Nevada, has gone missing. He is believed to have wandered from his home near Virginia City, Nevada the night of May 13, 1846. His Christian name is Joseph Francis Cartwright and he is four years of age with green eyes and curly, dark hair. On the night of his disappearance, Joseph was wearing a blue and white striped sleep shirt and was barefoot. If you have information of his whereabouts, please write _The Territorial Enterprise_ in Virginia City, Nevada. A reward will be given to anyone who assists in the recovery of Joseph Cartwright or for any knowledge of his whereabouts.

We waited. Pa would sit in his chair after all of us had gone to bed and stare ahead. I would stand at the top of the stairs and watch him. I wanted to be able to help my father but it seemed that anything I did was wrong. I don't know if he blamed me or not. I felt that it wasn't my fault but…I still felt such guilt. I don't know how Pa kept living having lost both his wife and his baby son.

But now that I've found Joe, Pa will be alive again. He'll smile—his eyes will smile along with his mouth. I've observed that with people, if their eyes don't smile as well as their mouths, it's not true. That type of smile is a lie. I want to see Joe smile with his eyes too.

I ate the squirrel stew, savory and rich. It was actually pretty good and I enjoyed it until I found a small skull in my bowl—a squirrel skull—eyeless but with teeth and then I had to stop; the small bones hadn't bothered me but, well, I just ate another biscuit and drank my coffee. Joe sat on a small stool by the fire and hunched down over his bowl, eating as if he was afraid that someone was going to snatch his food away. I felt anger rising in my chest and I wanted to kill these men. They ordered him about and Joe jumped to do their bidding. He must be afraid of them. But I smiled and ate the stew and laughed at their crude jokes. But the whole time I watched Joe. He was so thin and his fine bones, his slender wrists and delicate ankles reminded me of a bird's bones. He moved about the place like a shadow. I wanted to ask questions, such as how old was he? Why doesn't he resemble any of them? But I didn't want to show a particular interest in Joe; they might then suspect that I knew he didn't belong among these crude moonshiners. He shone like the moon in the night sky; it was easy to see he was special.

After supper, Joe carried away the dirty plates and using the small stool so that he could reach the sink in the kitchen, he washed the dishes. The brothers sat around and drank from a jug. "Just corn squeezin's—have some." I had a slug and the stuff was like pure fire as it burned my throat all the way down. I coughed and my eyes watered. They laughed. "Has a little kick to it, don't it?" Zechariah asked laughing.

"I'll say. It about kicked me off my chair!"

They continued to drink and I saw there was an old guitar in the corner.

"Care if I play?"

"No. Go right ahead. It was our Pap's. He's been dead near ten year now."

I retrieved the guitar and tried to tune it. It was a bit off but I started to strum. Joe had finished the dishes and came back in, dragging the stool and took his seat by the fire.

Joe used to like a song "The Old Gray Mare," I never knew why except that when I'd get to the verse with the mare kicking the wiffletree, he'd clap his hands and laugh. Even as an infant, he would break into peals of laughter at the word and when he was lying on the floor, Hoss would pull up Joe's shirt and press his lips on Joe's belly and buzz his lips to the word "whiffletree" and Joe would chortle, delighted. So once Joe could talk, whenever I took up my guitar, Joe would beg for the "whiffatree song." So I sang it now, watching Joe as I did, while the brothers continued to pass around their jug and slapped their thighs in time with my music.

Oh, the old gray mare, she ain't what she used to be,

Ain't what she used to be, ain't what she used to be.

The old gray mare, she ain't what she used to be,

Many long years ago.

Many long years ago, many long years ago.

The old gray mare, she ain't what she used to be,

Many long years ago.

Oh, the old gray mare, she kicked on the whiffletree,

Kicked on the whiffletree, kicked on the whiffletree

The old gray mare, she kicked on the whiffletree

Many long years ago.

Many long years ago, many long years ago,

The old gray mare, she kicked on the whiffletree

Many long years ago.

When I sang the "whiffletree" verse, Joe, sitting on his solitary stool smiled. For the first time, he smiled and his face radiated happiness.

I sang a few other songs and the brothers continued to drink and Elisha's head finally dropped and he began to softly snore.

"Elisha," Rabbit said, pushing his shoulder. "Wake up and git to bed. Never could hold his hooch." I was asked if the barn was all right for me and I nodded and lay down the guitar and said goodnight. I looked over to Joe who was watching me closely as if I was his savior; I was determined to try to be. I'll save you, Joe. I'll bring you back home where you'll be loved and coddled and have your own warm, soft bed to snuggle in. No one will hurt you again—I promise.

I went to sleep in the barn—well, that was the pretense. Actually, I bridled my horse and tightened the cinch. I wanted to be ready to leave. I kept thinking about Joe and how he had shown me with his small hands around his own thin neck how his "mother" had died. It made me shiver. I figured that Joe had seen her being throttled, probably made to watch, the men were cruel enough. Oh, Joe, my baby brother—oh, Joe. What horrors you must have seen and you won't tell of them, can't tell of them.

I didn't trust any of the brothers and although I was exhausted, I was too nervous to sleep. I wanted to stay awake in case one of them decided to cut my throat while I slept and if it hadn't been for Joe, I would have left after the meal, covering my tracks in the hopes they wouldn't follow me.

I decided what I would do. I was sure that Joe slept on a small cot that was in the far corner by the kitchen stove. At least he would be warm. When I was sure the man were drunkenly snoring in their beds, I snuck into the house, my horse waiting outside. Joe was asleep, curled up in his cot. He was so small and it was nothing to scoop him up. He was weightless like the baby sparrow I had found when I was a small boy on the prairie. It was just lying on the ground—it didn't even have all its feathers. I caught it up and took it to Pa. He said that it had probably fallen from its nest. "Leave it be," he had said. "There's no hope for it. It doesn't even chirp as baby birds do." But I couldn't leave it alone in all the emptiness to die. I made a nest in a basket and put it beside me in the wagon where I slept but in the morning it was dead. I took it out and buried it.

I found myself telling Joe to hush but he just looked at me with huge eyes—those hazel eyes that bespoke, even at his young age, of immense suffering. I wished I could take it from him—all that pain. It tore at my entrails like a pack of wolves ripping out the soft belly of a downed steer. I put my jacket around him—it practically enveloped him and then we rode away, one arm around him. I kissed the top of his head and my heart ached with the love that filled it near to bursting.

I tried to kick up the horse but he had no interest in exerting himself and I considered kicking him harder or snapping the ends of the reins against him but I couldn't. I found myself being torn apart with emotions. I couldn't hurt the horse—no matter what. Oh, Joe, you brought out my humanity like nothing I have ever read or experienced.

We stopped after the sun had been up a while and I fed Joe some jerky and hard tack which he gnawed on as he hunched over it. I leaned over to offer him water from the canteen and he pulled away as if afraid I was going to snatch his food away. I reassured him that the food was his and he tentatively reached out for the canteen and drank but he watched me the whole time. I was careful not to move too quickly, not to startle him.

My horse nickered. Then I heard it too—someone was coming. I grabbed Joe up and held him to me and leading the horse, we hid behind some leafy brush. "It'll be all right, Joe." I kissed his hair again and pushed him behind me pulling my gun. I kept down but then my horse nickered again and Rabbit, riding a light-brown mare came into view. The mare called out and my horse responded with a low snuffle.

Rabbit dismounted and pulling his shotgun out of it sheath, he bent down trying to look through the leaves. He raised his shotgun and my guess is that he had a hunch and was going to just fire and take a chance on hitting something—or someone. The brothers must have realized that Joe was gone and since I was as well, concluded that I spirited him away. Rabbit raised his shotgun to his shoulder and aimed and I fired. Rabbit dropped his rifle and stood for a second more and then fell. The horses were startled but then Rabbit's horse began to crop the fresh spring shoots and I grabbed Joe and we were back up on my horse's broad back.

We rode the rest of the day and Joe dozed on and off in my arms and I would hug him to me every once in a while. He was my treasure, my gift to Pa and Hoss. I'd never let him go until we arrived at the Ponderosa and even then, only to deliver him into my father's waiting arms. All this time, that's what Pa had been doing—waiting—his life suspended.


	7. Chapter 7

**VII**

"Adam…" Ben Cartwright had heard a horse in the yard, looked out the window and gone out. He didn't know who would come riding in on an old plow horse that had gray on its muzzle. The animal stood patiently while its rider sat with a bundle wrapped in a jacket, waiting.

Then Ben recognized that it was Adam. "Adam…I…why didn't you let me know you were coming home? You weren't asked to leave school were…" and then Ben saw the bundle was a child sitting in front of Adam and he stopped. Recognition almost felled him. Ben wavered on his feet, his face blanched and if it hadn't been for Hop Sing who had come out of the kitchen and now supported him, Ben would have fallen. His knees had suddenly gone weak and he feared they would buckle.

"Mistah Cartwright," Hop Sing said, holding onto the big man. Ben placed his hand on Hop Sing's shoulder.

"I'm all right, Hop Sing, it's…oh, my God, dear, sweet God. Oh, it's Joseph. It's my boy—my Joseph." Ben put out his arms and Adam handed down Joe. Ben grabbed the boy and clasped him to his chest, his tears beginning to fall through his joy. He stroked Joe's hair and suddenly from the boy came a howl—a high-pitched yowl of pain, of fear, of horror. The first sound he had made since Adam had seen him days ago.

"Pa," Adam said, quickly dismounting. "Hand him back to me—Pa." Joe struggled to be free of the big man's grasp and the jacket fell to the ground. Ben reluctantly handed Joe back to Adam. Joe, his hands like small claws, desperately grabbed Adam and then he wrapped his thin arms around Adam's neck, wrapped his legs around Adam's waist, and hooked his bare ankles together.

Hoss came running out of the barn at the sound of Joe's cries and stood open-mouthed looking at the oddly-dressed boy who tried to hide his face in Adam's neck.

"Where did you find him? Where did you find Joseph?" Ben asked question after question. "Where has Joe been?" Ben's hands fluttered around Joe like butterflies around a blossom before they land. Ben's arms ached to hold Joe, his hands to touch the tumbled curls. He wanted to kiss his son, to have Joe cry for his father and call him Papa as he had when he was small. It had never been "Pa" as it had been for Hoss and Adam but "Papa," like "Mama" for his mother.

Ben had envisioned this day for so long—the day when Joe would return, when he had his son back but that his son feared him, his baby son, broke his heart.

"Pa, let's go inside. I'll explain what I know. Hoss, put this horse away, would you? Feed him and rub him down." Adam still held Joe who seemed to have a death grip on his older brother.

"Is that Joe?" Hoss asked having heard his father cry out Joe's name. "Where'd he come from, Adam? Why'd he yell and scream like that? What's wrong with 'im?"

Ben spoke up, wiping away his tears. "Hoss, go tend to the horse and then come in. Please."

"But, Pa…" Hoss had no idea what was happening. First Adam shows up and he has a boy with him who his father says is Joe. And now his father cried and Hoss was confused.

"Hoss, just do it. Take care of the horse." Ben realized that he raised his voice at Hoss but he didn't have the time to be patient.

"Yes, sir," Hoss said, his lower lip jutting out. Even at eleven years old, he still pouted when he was displeased.

Once inside, Adam sat on the settee; Joe still hadn't looked around, still clung to Adam.

"Kwan Yin merciful goddess," Hop Sing said, grinning through the tears that flowed down his cheeks. "Hop Sing send up incense as offering to generous one and she answer prayer—lost bird return to nest. Merciful Kwan Yin."

"Hop Sing," Adam said, "would you bring a glass of milk and some cookies. Joe hasn't eaten much but jerky and hard tack."

Ben sat beside Adam and Joe on the settee, his eyes brimming with unshed tears, a marked contrast to the tremulous smile.

"It is Joseph, Adam. It's my boy, my boy. Oh, my God, Adam. Where did you find him?" He touched Joe's hair and Joe hunched up his shoulders to try to avoid the touch.

"It's a long story, Pa, and I only know part of it but…he's seen a lot, Pa, and most of it, if what I observed is consistent, has been bad. He hasn't spoken to me. His yelling outside is the first sound I've heard him make."

Hop Sing came back out with the milk and a plate of almond cookies.

"For you, Littul Joe. Hop Sing make cookies and here big glass of milk." Hop Sing placed them on the table and then stepped back smiling, He wanted to see Little Joe eat.

Adam gently pulled Joe's arms from around his neck but still held him. Joe was shaking like a frightened animal. "Here, drink some milk." Adam reached for the glass and then held it in front of Joe who looked first at Adam. Adam nodded and then Joe grabbed the milk and began to gulp it down, milk running over the sides of the glass and down his chin.

"Adam he….he's so thin. He must be starving."

"We're both a little hungry, Pa." And Adam, who had retrieved the plate of cookies, held them for Joe who grabbed one off the plate, watching Ben as if expecting him to take the sweet wafers away, and shoved it in his mouth, rapidly chewing and swallowing and then took another. And Adam watched Joe eat, his own stomach rumbling with hunger.

I pulled up in the yard and even before I could dismount, Pa was there. He was surprised to see me. I could feel Joe tighten with fear. On the ride I had talked to Joe about my being his brother and I don't know if he believed me or not but after a while, he wasn't afraid of me. Maybe it was just that he was happy to have left the brothers and the situation—I don't know and he never told me.

Traveling with Joe, I avoided towns because I didn't know if anyone would recognize Joe and claim he had been taken from the brothers. Zechariah and the others must have sold their shine to someone, must have had customers. I couldn't take any chances. I wouldn't lose Joe twice.

When we'd stop for the night, I'd hold him next to me and wrap the blanket around us both but he stank like a wet dog. He had grime in the creases of his neck and his nails were filthy. The soles of his feet didn't look as if they would ever be clean. But I didn't care. He'd wake me up making small cries and I would just lie there, holding him and wonder what terrors he had seen and what his dreams were that he should make such sounds.

Oh, Joe—I love you so much. You're so small and so precious to me. I was cruel, ignored you as a baby because Pa cooed over you and you were Marie's brat. She slapped me when I said that and I just stood and stared at her, pretending it hadn't hurt but it stung.

"Marie, what is it? What did Adam do?"

Oh, Pa, you were so feckless. Marie had beauty and soft skin and the scent of gardenias followed her. I wanted to love her as my mother but I couldn't. I couldn't betray Inger like you did; you loved someone else after her but I stayed true.

"Oh, Ben, he called Joseph a brat! Said that he was _my_ brat." A woman's tears, the greatest tool in manipulating men—well, actually the second. I knew what was the first.

"Adam, why did you say that? How can you call your new brother a brat?"

Because you allowed that woman into our house, into our lives and into your bed. Because I'm too old and too awkward and I feel things that I can't explain. I want to be loved but I'm no baby, no sweet-faced cherub. Love me, Pa—show me that you do. But I didn't say any of those things—I said nothing and my silence infuriated him. Get to your room and you can stay there until you apologize!

We ride and Joe says nothing. I ask him if he wants to help with the reins but he just shakes his head no. His curls bounce. But during the day as the horse plods along, Joe looks up at me and I see in the depth of his hazel eyes, a type of understanding. It's as if he's some changeling, as if I'm trying to fool Pa by returning a boy who's not his and for a mere second, I have doubts.

And now we were in front of the Ponderosa and I saw Pa's face, the sudden recognition in his eyes when he saw Joe—and then, something else. It was closest to relief but more than that—it was a surrender of a type, as if all this time he had borne up under such a horror of grief that now he could collapse. And Hop Sing, he came out too, probably to see "Mistah Adam" but then he saw Pa and saw Little Joe and I didn't really matter. But I'm older and I can understand such things so I handed Joe down to Pa's waiting arms, Pa's eyes filling with tears, Hop Sing helping support him, and Pa clasped Joe next to him, beginning to croon to his lost son who was now found. But Joe let out the most God-forsaken, ear-splitting screech that I was shocked. I jumped down off my horse and took Joe back and he clung to me in absolute terror, his small body shaking.

Pa looked devastated. I wanted to comfort him, to tell him that it was just because Joe knew me longer but secretly—and I don't even want to admit it to myself—I was happy that Joe wanted me. I had taken care of him, fed him, kept him warm at night and I had grown to love him so much that God forgive me, I don't think I could ever love my own children more. But Pa, he was crushed-devastated. I was afraid for him.

I took Joe inside and Hop Sing was talking about a merciful goddess. If she is so merciful, I wanted to say to him, why did she allow Joe to become lost and stolen away by those men and be treated the way he was? Answer me that. But instead I asked for food for Joe-milk and cookies. Long ago, Joe ate milk and cookies as a snack before bed and maybe sitting in the room with Pa and Hop Sing and Hoss, once he came in, the taste of the food would bring it all back.

Smells and tastes, they evoke memories. I read that in one of my textbooks and I found it to be true. Whenever I go into a barn, any barn, I have strange memories—some good, some not. I like the smell of hay and tack-even horse dung. And I also remember kissing Bethany Graves in her father's barn. But I also think of when Pa would take me out and paddle me. I don't know why he took me out to the barn to punish me—maybe so I wouldn't think of being punished when I went to my room but then, he would often send me to my room like he did that time I called Joe a brat.

I finally convinced Joe to drink the milk and eat the cookies—but once he started, he ate like an animal, crumbs falling on his lap and mine since I held him. And Pa watched, leaning in to see Joe and Pa's hands moved involuntarily; Pa wanted to hold Joe so badly, so very badly. But he reached out again and Joe scrambled to the other side of me.

"Give him time, Pa. Give him time." I realized then the oddest thing-that I wanted to take my Pa in my arms, hold him and comfort him the way I had Joe. That surprised me as I had always looked to my Pa for reassurance but the desire was so overwhelming that I reached out and touched my father's face. He looked at me with his dark eyes and I whispered, "It'll just take time, Pa. He'll love you again." And I wanted to add, "as much as I love you. But I was grown and men don't say such things to one another—even if they are father and son.


	8. Chapter 8

VIII

Sweet milk. Take it easy, Brother says. Brother, Brother, Brother. He kisses my hair as I eat and with his hand, moves it out of my eyes. The big man with the sad face sits near me and I see he has tears. I wonder who hurt him. Don't cry—only girlies cry, they always told me way back now and if I cried, I'd get it worse.

Brother picks me up. It's dark outside-night. I smell food cooking and the odd man in the strange clothes and cap comes out. His hair is funny. He says we eat soon. Wash him up. Brother takes me to a room with a large metal thing that looks like a bucket. The man with the sad eyes—Pa. Brother calls him Pa. He fills the bucket with water. I see that it's not all cold water. There's steam from some of the buckets and another person, Hoss, my brother too, they say—a name that's funny—he stands and watches, his hands in his pockets. He looks sad.

"Go get clothes for Joe." Hoss leaves and comes back when I'm sitting in the bucket that Brother put me in and I was afraid. He might hold my head down—drown me but brother lets me hold onto him. His shirt gets wet but he lets me hold on. He uses soap. Flowers. It smells like flowers. My Mama, she smelled like flowers. There were flowers on her grave. I put flowers on Ma's grave. I'm sad—no one will put flowers on Ma's grave now.

"It's okay," Brother says. He tells me he's going to pour water over my head. Wash my hair. Close your eyes. I close my eyes but I don't let go of Brother. The sad man watches. Brother washes my feet and my toes. "Won't ever get clean." He uses a brush and scrubs them.

The big man holds a towel and Brother hands me to him. No. I won't let go of Brother. No. I kick, I fight—Brother! Brother! Keep me! Don't let me go! I can't say anything but I want Brother. He takes me back and holds me. The big man cries. Brother pats his shoulder, says words to him and then Brother holds me with one arm and puts his other arm around the man. I can smell the man. I know his smell. I'm not afraid of him now but I won't leave Brother.

I have on a long, soft shirt. Brother tries to set me on a chair by myself but I won't let go of him. Brother puts me on his lap and food is on a plate then. The man in the blue cap and a long trail of hair smiles and then he piles food on the plate. "You like. You eat Hop Sing's good food." Biscuits and meat and gravy and peas. Ma made gravy. Ma made biscuits. Brother gives me a spoon and I eat. It's so good and warm and I let Brother eat some too. He says he's hungry. A glass of milk. Slow down, Brother says. There's more.

We go down a long hall and Brother takes me in to a room. The sad man Brother calls Pa lights a lamp and I look around. There's a bed. On the bed is a doll—a pretend animal. Mine. I know it's mine from long ago—I just know. I put out my hand—open and close it-reaching. I want the animal. You want your bear? I nod. That's what it is—a bear. The man hands me the bear and I hold it next to me and smell it. I know the bear—Brownie. The bear is Brownie. Oh, Brother. I hide my face against Brother's shirt. Hide me, Brother, it's too much.

Brother takes me to the bed and lowers me down but he'll leave me alone then-I know it and it will be dark. Zechariah and Elisha will find me and they'll box my ears, take a switch to me—they'll hurt Brother because of Rabbit. I won't let go of Brother so he says, okay. It's all right, Joe. Brother calls me Joe. He takes me back up and then he lays down with me and next to Brother I can sleep. The big man Brother calls Pa kisses my hair and I let him. He touches my head—strokes my hair and I lay still. I hold Brownie and Brother holds me and Pa pulls a blanket over us. I can sleep now. Brother won't let Elisha take me 'cause he'll put me in the ground if he finds me. I want to tell Brother about Ma but I don't want to go into the ground. The words start but I swallow them.

I was so exhausted my eyes burned and Joe wouldn't release my shirt. I had to bathe him—he reeked. Pa couldn't stay away from Joe and hovered about. I understand, Pa—I know how you love him. I know how sad you've been. It crossed my mind that Pa never asked another question about me, why I was home, why I had left school. For all he knew, I could've been kicked out for going to class drunk or taking a girl to my room. He didn't know and he didn't care. Joe was his only interest.

I know that I'm grown and shouldn't be hurt by his disaffection—Joe had been missing for two years and now was found and it only made sense that his care should be utmost but…I pushed my hurt feelings aside. I shouldn't be so selfish. I had my Pa to myself my early years but yet, it wasn't the same. I hadn't been coddled, kissed and pet. But Joe is a child and he needs his Pa and Pa needs him. They need each other in order to survive. But I brought him to you, Pa. Why don't you praise me—thank me?

Hoss brought Joe a sleep shirt he had outgrown. But now Joe was clean—or at least as clean as I could get him. He was so thin. Pa was thin as well. Hop Sing had told me that Pa ate barely anything. After Joe's bath, Pa held up the towel and I tried to give him Joe but Joe wouldn't allow it. He kicked and struggled and then I had to take Joe back. Pa broke down into tears. I tried to comfort him as best I could. I told him again that Joe didn't know him but he will. It'll just take time.

When Pa and I took Joe to his room, he recognized that ratty, old toy he owned, a stuffed bear. Brownie. That's the name Joe gave the toy. The ears are all chewed on and Marie had to sew up a hole or the stuffing would have come out. Joe reached out for it and Pa give it to him. Joe wouldn't lie down without me so I lay down next to him like I had on the nights we slept traveling home. Finally I felt Joe's small body relax and he was asleep. I wanted to leave, to go downstairs but what if Joe awoke and I wasn't there? But I wanted to change clothes, wash up, talk to my father.

Hoss, in his nightshirt was in the hall, sitting on a wooden chair by a small table with a lamp, waiting. What is it, Hoss? What's wrong? Adam, you think Pa still loves me now that Joe's back?

I tell him that he's too old for that type of nonsense. But then I catch Hoss' face. If I feel excluded from my father's affections, how much worse for Hoss? So I ask him how things have been since I was gone. Hoss tells me that Hop Sing is always fussing over Pa because he doesn't eat. Once Hop Sing asked Pa if he was trying to kill himself by starvation. Hoss said that he was scared by that. Dr. Martin came to visit a few times and told Pa that he needed to get back to work—to get outside in the fresh air. The Doctor had said that our pa had a word that started with an M. Melon something.

"Melancholia?" I ask. Hoss says yeah, that was it. Pa was sad all the time. "This whole place was sad all the time, Adam. Now that Joe's back, Pa's even sadder. Why's that Adam?"

I have to explain to Hoss that since Joe doesn't recognize Pa, it makes him sad. Then I told him that Joe remembered Brownie and Hoss laughed at that. "He recognized that doll? He don't recognize Pa, Hop Sing or me but that bear he remembers." And Hoss and I both have a laugh. And Hoss tells me he's glad that I'm home. He goes to his room but turns at the door and comes back and hugs me. It surprises me but then I guess it shouldn't. I remember when I was Hoss' age. That's when Marie had come into our lives, when I was Hoss' age. It's a hard age—a foot still in childhood and one foot into being a man. I hugged Hoss back; I was afraid that it might be the last time we would ever hug, he was growing up so fast. When I put my arms around him, it was odd—Joe was so light, so delicate of bone, but Hoss was as solid as a mountain.

When I went downstairs, Pa was sitting by the fire but he didn't have that drawn look anymore; he was more relaxed. It was like when I was younger and out past dark with my friends. When I would walk in the house, Pa would visibly relax. It's about time you were home, young man. You think this is a hotel where you can come and go as you please?

Is Joe asleep? Yeah. I want to change, to wash up. Seems to me that you already had a bit of a bath. We smiled. I told Pa about Zechariah, Elisha and Rabbit and Joe—but not all of it—he was upset enough with the little I did tell him-and how I had to shoot Rabbit and killed him. I'd shot men before when I was riding with Pa and we had to defend our cattle from rustlers but I'd never killed anyone. The law did though—it hanged them. I remember one man wanted me to kill him. "Just shoot me dead—I'd rather die that way than be hung," he said to me as he gritted his teeth from the pain of a blown out shoulder.

I thought I'd be more upset about killing Rabbit and I asked my Pa about that. Why wasn't I more upset? Well, he was trying to kill you, Pa said after I told him about it. But then I realized why—it was what's called an epiphany—a sudden enlightenment, an understanding. Rabbit had been cruel to Joe, treated my baby brother, one of us, Joseph Cartwright-horribly. If I hadn't killed Rabbit, if I had hesitated, he would have taken Joe back and it would have been bad. I was only sorry that I hadn't killed them all and rolled their bodies in a ravine. No one harms my family or those we love and no one harms my blood and we're blood—Pa, me, Hoss and Joe.


	9. Chapter 9

A guest reviewer commented that s/he found the stream of consciousness disconcerting and suggested that I was not writing it properly. Actually, s/he is correct—mine is modified to make it more comprehensible. What follows is an example from Joyce's _Ulysses _oftruestream of consciousness.Fortunately, I didn't have to copy it because it was—as you can guess—on _Wikipedia_.

**a quarter after what an unearthly hour I suppose theyre just getting up in China now combing out their pigtails for the day well soon have the nuns ringing the angelus theyve nobody coming in to spoil their sleep except an odd priest or two for his night office or the alarmlock next door at cockshout clattering the brain out of itself let me see if I can doze of what kind of flowers are those they invented like the stars the wallpaper in Lombard street was much nicer the apron he gave me was like that something only I only wore it twice better lower this lamp and try again so that I can get up early**

**IX**

Although Joe wouldn't let Adam out if his sight in the following days, he began to relax in his surroundings and Adam noticed that Joe's constant look of fear subsided. Joe still didn't want to sleep alone but he would sit at the table and eat his food, emulating Adam. Ben noticed that Joe even put his napkin on his lap as Adam did. And now that Joe wore boots and clothes that actually fit him, he didn't look so much like an urchin but his hair still hung in curls. A trip to town to see the barber would eventually come but neither Adam nor Ben felt that the time was yet; they were sure that Joe would shy—perhaps scream and kick at a stranger approaching him with scissors.

Ben and Adam had convinced Hoss to sleep with Joe at night. Hoss didn't want to at first. "But, Hoss," Adam said, "remember when you were Joe's age? Remember the things that used to scare you?"

Hoss nodded. There were things that still scared him such as Adam leaving for school and then their father dying.

"Joe's afraid." Adam moved so that his face was close to Hoss'. "When I found Joe, he was hungry and he was scared. More scared than you or I have ever been. He needs an older brother like you to sleep in the same room until he's not afraid anymore."

Hoss mulled it over, his brow furrowed. "Okay, Adam. I'll sleep in his room."

Adam sighed in relief. Now he felt a type of freedom and he began to feel the urge to return to Boston. He knew that he couldn't attend school yet—he had withdrawn for the trip home—but he could reapply and take a job and work until time for classes to again begin. But Adam decided to wait before mentioning it to his father; Adam knew that having both him and Joseph back home had made his father happy. Ben's color had returned as well as his appetite and now Hop Sing smiled when "Mistah Cartwright's" booming voice would call for him. And Adam smiled and shook his head. He knew that it wouldn't be long before Hop Sing would again be complaining that all his father did was "Yell, yell, yell! Hop Sing have ears! No need yell!" Once that happened, things would truly be back to normal at the Ponderosa.

Dinner conversation became more normal as well in that the subject shifted to the cattle, and Adam's plans to enlarge the house. The second week that Adam was home, he had placed the plans on the large wooden table that a neighbor had made for them from an old walnut tree. The neighbor had buffed it and shined it with linseed oil and then proudly delivered it to the Ponderosa as a thank-you gift to Ben for taking the man's cattle to market along with his own when the man's leg had been crushed his by a fallen mount. The table became the center of the furniture and all the chairs and the old sofa were gathered around it.

"And look here, Pa," Adam said as he moved a pencil along the lines, "we can enlarge this fireplace and by setting a section of the room off as an office for you—over there—" Adam said pointing, "With a furnace on that side of the room, the whole room will be kept warm. With the kitchen in basically the same place and radiating heat from the oven, the winters will be more than just tolerable. And since we know that heat rises, well, the upper floors will stay warm as well besides each having a fireplace of its own—the common wall having the fireplaces back to back and a divided chimney. And in the summer, we can open these windows," Adam pointed to them on the blueprint, "and have cross-ventilation."

"That's impressive, Adam," Ben said, "very impressive." Joe had come over and kneeled between Adam and Ben. Joe had yet to talk, yet to say a word. Ben reached out and tousled Joe's curls and Joe allowed it. "I think we can get started on it this summer. I can hire some men, some of the hands who I usually lay off and I'll pay them to build. You can supervise them."

"Pa," Adam said, "I was thinking of going back to Boston…" Adam stopped, aware that Joe was waiting, his mouth open. Because he never spoke, Adam sometimes forgot that Joe heard every word and that there was nothing wrong with his intelligence.

"What, Adam?" Ben waited.

"Nothing, Pa. I'll talk to you about it later." Adam turned his attention back to the blueprints and explained about the kitchen and the front and back porches but the whole time, he was aware of Joe.

It was Sunday afternoon and Ben and Hoss had returned from church. They had decided that Joe and Adam would stay home. There would be too many people who would want to fuss over Joe but Ben did tell the pastor along with Mrs. Mason, the head of the woman's auxiliary; he had told Sheriff Coffee days earlier and the Edwards as well Word passed quickly through the congregation and after services, Ben's neighbors and friends, some of the women weeping with joy, blessed him and told him how happy they were. The Lord works in mysterious ways, he was told, and that God is faithful.

Ben thanked them while Hoss answered with a nod or a shrug, to all the comments aimed at him. "You must be so happy to have your brother back!" "I'll bet that you're glad to have a brother to play with!"

But now home, Ben relaxed with his pipe and Hoss kicked off his boots and lay on the old, soft sofa. Ben kept saying that one day, he'd buy a new one, one that fit in better with the two, red, leather chairs he had purchased. Adam came down the stairs with his guitar, Joe trailing him.

"How, 'bout a song, Pa? Want to hear one? I need the practice—my fingers have forgotten where to go."

"Yeah. Make it a happy one. It is Sunday afternoon."

So Adam sat in one of the chairs and propped his guitar on his knee. Joe sat on the low walnut table, waiting for Adam to play, and Ben was about to reprimand Joe for sitting on the table but then stopped himself. It wouldn't do, after what Adam had told him about the brothers with whom Joe had lived, to correct him. And Joe was finally allowing himself to be touched by Ben. Joe was even allowing Ben to kiss his childishly round cheeks.

"Sing that crawdad song, Adam," Hoss asked.

"Anything about food, huh, Hoss?" Adam said grinning.

"Aw, Adam," Hoss said. He was always being teased about his large appetite but Hop Sing said that a good appetite is a sign of a happy man.

Adam strummed his guitar for a few chords and then began to sing:

_You get a line, I'll get a pole, honey,_  
_You get a line, I'll get a pole, babe,_  
_You get a line, I'll get a pole,_  
_We'll go down to the crawdad hole,_  
_Honey, baby, mine._

_Yonder come a man with a sack on his back, honey,_  
_Yonder come a man with a sack on his back, babe,_  
_Yonder come a man with a sack on his back,_  
_He's totin' all the crawdads he can pack,_  
_Honey, baby, mine._

_Whatcha gonna do when the lake runs dry, honey?_  
_Whatcha gonna do when the lake runs dry, babe?_  
_Whatcha gonna do when the lake runs dry,_  
_Sit on the bank and cry, cry, cry,_  
_Honey, baby, mine._

_What did the hen duck say to the drake, honey?_  
_What did the hen duck say to the drake, babe?_  
_What did the hen duck say to the drake,_  
_Ain't no crawdads in that lake,_  
_Honey, baby, mine._

_Adam finished the song and then waited. He hoped that Joe would ask for another song—the "whiffertree" song as he had always called it, but Joe sat silently. He had smiled while Adam sang but now Joe sat—waiting._

_Hoss sat up. "Adam, sing that Shady Grove song, would ya?"_

_"__Sure," so Adam sang and a big smile broke over Hoss' face and Ben kept time, tapping his foot. But Joe never asked for the "whffertree" song and Adam's heart sank. How long? How long would it take before he would again hear his small brother's voice_?


	10. Chapter 10

**X**

_"__Pa, I want to take Joe to Marie's grave."_

_"__No, it's not a good idea." _

_"__But, Pa, nothing else seems to work. He won't speak—he doesn't quite remember anything."_

_"__He remembered his toy, didn't he? Joe trusts Hoss and he even lets me kiss him. You said they called him Jimmy-James but he knows his name is Joe." _

_"__Pa, a body can even change a grown dog's name and he'll come." _

_"__Are you comparing your brother to a dog?" _

_Now, Pa, don't get angry—I didn't mean anything by it. Pa…I want to go back to Boston—to wait until the next term. I'll get a job until the term starts. The dean said that I would be welcomed back…"_

_"__No, Adam, not yet. I don't know how I'll handle Joe with you gone"._

_I can feel the anger rise behind my eyes. "Pa, I have a life too. I'm happy Joe is back but, Pa, I came home because I sensed something wrong in the letters you sent—as few as there were and I was worried. But now I feel hopeful and you're happy, Pa—your boy is back." _

_I said that last remark in a slightly sarcastic tone. I couldn't help it—I find that I revert to my old behavior and I can hear the words come out of my mouth and can't stop them. "My boy, my boy is back. My son is home." Pa said that more than once but he didn't mean me. I wasn't his "boy" and when he said "my son is home," he didn't mean me either. And then I was ashamed. How could I be so petty—so selfish? Grow up, I tell myself._

_Pa laid a hand on my arm. "Adam, you're my son too. When I saw you in the yard, I was worried that something had happened but that worry was overshadowed by my joy at seeing you and Joe. I've always wanted what's best for you—always felt guilt about your childhood and not always being the best father for you. I've learned and I suppose that I see Joe as my last chance to be a better father—to make amends for shorting you. I know it sounds strange but that's how I feel. If you want to leave, well, I'll try to understand and won't hold any resentment—I forget that you are old enough to pursue your own needs and that I don't know what's best for you anymore. I don't know how to say to you all the things I feel—gratitude, love, regret, guilt-but you, Adam…"_

_"__Don't, Pa. You don't have to say those things. I know that you love me—it's not you, it's me, Pa. A man ought to be able to behave in a rational manner, to have a logical mind. I need to work on that. I'm not a child anymore and I don't need you as much as Hoss and Joe do and that's the way it's supposed to be—isn't it?"_

_"__Yes. Adam, if you think that taking Joe to Marie's grave will help, I'll go with you." _

_"__No—please. It was just the two of us at Marie's grave that day; I'll take Joe alone". _

_I would entertain no argument so I went and found Joe. He was outside with Hop Sing and Joe was helping him feed the chickens. Joe would scurry after them trying to hand them the food while Hop Sing laughed. Joe, you want to go for ride? Okay, Joe. You help Hop Sing while I saddle my horse._

_Joe had no idea where we were going. We rode on a flashy, long-legged chestnut with a blaze and three white stockings named Beauty. Pa gave him to me as mine and he did ride smoother than that old plow horse. _

_"__That plow horse. He has to have a name, Adam," Hoss had argued. _

_"__Okay, Hoss, you name him—I never got around to it." _

_"__I been studyin' on it, Adam. How 'bout Gent. He's a nice horse, Adam—always minds his manners when I take care of 'im." _

_"__Why, Hoss, I think that's a good name—a fitting name." _

_"__How old you think he is, Adam?" _

_"__My guess is that he's about nineteen—maybe twenty. Pa and I agree that for the rest of his years, he can just be put out to pasture." _

_"__You mind iffen I take him as mine, Adam? I like 'im." _

_"__I think that would be fine."_

_Hoss and his animals. Hoss and his sympathy for those things that never quite fit in. I looked at Hoss and I suddenly saw him with new eyes. I was concerned about my own hurt feelings and my inconsequential needs and here was Hoss, the middle son, the one who had been left with a father pining for Joe, at the age that is so painful and I saw that he and Gent were basically the same; people took them both for granted considering them nothing special because they didn't recognize the steadfast heart, the long-suffering patience and the determination to endure. I ruffled Hoss' fine hair—gossamer threads._

_"__Now, Adam, don't go messin' up my hair." I can't help but laugh. _

_We stopped by the lake, a few yards from Marie's grave. Joe looked questioningly as we stood on the grass. I took his small hand and we walked to the grave site and there was Marie's grave—just as I remembered; the tombstone with the cross. I looked at Joe and he just stared. He let go of me and walked closer and ran his fingers over the lettering and looked at me. It says her name, I tell him, how long she lived and "In Loving Memory."_

_I saw some wildflowers by the lake, buttercups. If you put them under your chin and they reflect yellow, it means you like butter. Pa, we don't need a flower to tell if Hoss likes butter. I picked a handful and handed them to Joe. He looked at them and then looked up at me. I nodded and he laid them on Marie's grave. My heart was pounding—Joe seemed to remember. I kneeled down. I was going to explain to Joe that his "mama" was buried there but before I could say anything, Joe threw his arms around my neck and I hugged him to me. _

_And then I heard it, his small voice next to my ear. "Brother." His light kiss on my cheek. And I hugged him closer. My little brother was back and he loved me._

_~ Finis ~_


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